Katniss's Daughter: The Darker Ages
by Stairlight
Summary: Caught by the mutts in the tunnels, it's Game Over for Katniss Everdeen. The surviving Rebels are sent to Rebel Camp where they await their turn to fight to the death in the Worst Hunger Games Ever. What's at stake? Katniss's last Hope - her daughter.
1. Chapter 1

(A/n: This is an edited version. Please leave an 'x' or review to indicate you have read. Thank you :))

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><p>I blame my mother.<p>

If she had run faster, the mutts would not have caught up with her in the tunnels. She would not have been dragged and swung from the hovercraft which brought her to Snow's manor. They gave her no time to yank even the nightlock from beneath her sleeve.

Therefore, really, it is her fault that I was born. And I don't know what to make of that. The people in Rebel Camp, here with me, they tell me how brave and smart and rejuvenating she was. If she really was, she would not have gotten caught.

Before I had been born, President Snow had decreed I was to be named Hope, so that my mother can watch hope die all over again. My first and last name clashes horribly, like the sound of cymbals clanging and nails running down a blackboard.

_Hope_ signifies a better future somewhere faraway from here. _Mellark_ brings back gruelling memories of a plan gone horribly wrong.

That is right. I am the daughter of the infamous Katniss Everdeen of the Rebellion.

The **Darker **Ages began after my parents' failure.

And so did my punishment.

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><p>I dread winter. It is so deadly quiet, I can hear frequency ringing in my ears. If the Capitol does not kill me, the silence will. <em>Soon.<em>

A sigh bubbles its way up my throat and I swallow. Glitter is looking (_Argh, the terrible, terrible names District 2 residents call themselves!). _Her Peacekeeper mask, cruelly carved from acrylic, hides her smile, but not her eyes, which are dancing with maniacal laughter.

The snow deepens when I walk straight up to her. Melted ice scalds my ankles.

I pick up the pen to sign the logbook with near-frostbitten fingers, which is required by the Snow Law (_snickers_) after our short time outdoors. When I am done, I palm the pen, pretending to tie my shoelaces.

_Fall for it! Fall for it! Fall for it!_

Without warning,I straighten and hurl the pen at her. It rakes her forehead, which bleeds immediately, and she squeals in a way that reminds me of a turkey about to get its throat cut.

"Hah, sorry. Guess your blood's not made of sparkly glitter after all," I say matter-of-factly, "You should apply for a new name."

Usually she is very prepared for attacks like this, but unfortunately for her, not from me. I have a good report from all of the Peacekeepers. In fact, my report states that I am not a threat, considering I cannot shoot straight, nothing like Katniss Everdeen. Besides, I have always been a quiet lil' mouse (I overheard the Peacekeepers calling me that in the pantry)

But if there is a ninety percent probability you are going to die today, you might as well do something incredibly crazy.

When she flares, her nostrils widen and her cheeks are flushed light-blue and red - kind of like soft purple, actually. The image of a turkey is instantly replaced by a bull. A furious, smoke-breathing one.

Then she smiles, wide and crescent like the winter moon.

"Ah. Practicing for the Games later, Hope Mellark? That was a pretty good throw. Maybe Snow will let you live for a few more hours. My kids and I will be all comfy at home, rooting for your… death. I sure hope that it will be gruesome! You can be so entertaining. Don't disappoint us, alright?" Glitter's voice is cloying, sickly sweet. Then she begins laughing, in the pitch of a hyena.

My toes curl around the hot ice in my boots, and I struggle not to slap her with the back of my hand.

I storm, throat pulsing, into the Mocking House. Her laughter follows me all the way down the corridor.

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><p>A fair-skinned, black-haired Peacekeeper guard at the entrance to the hall prods my chest with the tip of his rifle, and I fall to the ground, heart thudding. The inflated ground sags under my weight. I crawl back up, and the guard smacks me across the face with his rifle.<p>

My lips swell with blood red tears.

"Don't, Ming. We do not want to be on the bad side of Crusade. He warned us about not harming any of the contestants, remember? She will be at the Games later anyway. No reason to wound her now," the other guard says.

I look up, and grin through the red mess, "I'm telling Crusade."

Ming shakily points the rifle at me, finger on the trigger. "You have no clue how much I want to shoot this freak right now. Daughter of a bitch_._ Daughter of a _murderous_ bitch."

"My mother is no murderer," my voice, strangely, is full of conviction.

Ming's eyes go cold, dead even. He grabs me by the scruff of my neck, eyes boring into mine.

"Your mother killed my mother. She barged into an innocent woman's house, and shot her through – and clean – with a single arrow," his voice is glacial. "I hope you die a painful death."

Considering I have never met my mother, I am surprised, every time, by the hoards of people who have a grudge against her. Guess who takes the brunt of it?

From my peripheral vision, I catch the hint of a smart, black uniform. Before I can speculate who it is, a gunshot reverberates, and Ming slumps to the ground, a waterfall of red pouring out from between his eyes.

There is only one person here with such excellent marksmanship.

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><p>Crusade tucks his gun back into his pocket, and tells Friz, the other guard, to incinerate the body. "Disobedient, undisciplined soldiers deserve no proper burial," he says. Friz must have sensed the threat in his voice, because he immediately flees the corridor to seek out the disposal team.<p>

"Good luck for later, sweetheart. If you can help it, last at least an hour. I am betting a fortune on you, for how long you will last," Crusade flashes me a toothy smile, and walks away, whistling Rue's Lullaby (one of the songs constantly mocked at in the Capitol.)

I bite my tongue to keep my teeth from chattering. It is so cold. As I stagger the rest of the way to my room, my own voice resounds in my head. _I am going to die, going to die, going to die._

And no matter how I try, I am unable to shake off Crusade's grin, embedded in my mind.


	2. Chapter 2

(A/n: '**x**' to indicate you have read. Sorry this took so long to write. I have segregated some paras, even though it was unnecessary, to make it easier to read. _Hope_ you enjoy this :) -chuckles diabolically- )

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><p>For the past fifteen years, The Reaping has been shifted to the Justice Building's Hall. Apparently, an awesome bunch of rebel-supporters had the gall to set off sleep-bombs in the square of the Reaping following Katniss's capture.<p>

Surely, they have been tortured and then publicly executed. I'm not sure if it had been worth it, but anyway…

I am the first to enter the gates of the Reaping Hall. They make me march through x-ray detectors. Even then, the security guards take advantage of these measures to feel around my breast and waist, to 'affirm' that I have neither weaponry nor private possessions. In order to keep up with tradition, they pierce my forefinger with a zapping device, and press it, stinging with blood and all, onto their attendance sheet. In return, I am bestowed a rubberized stick-on mockingjay pin. _Ah, doorgifts. Don't you just love them?_

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><p>An hour later, all the rebels have been herded in. They are kicked from behind their knees by the guards, and they kneel on the ground, defeated. In a moment, the names of the rebels chosen for the Games would be read out. There's speculation – no, <em>confirmation <em>– the reaping ball is sabotaged. There are only 13 different names inside among the thousands of rebels from all the 13 districts. Oops, sorry, twelve. 12th was razed. Like I said, this year the Games are different. There're 13 players, 13 chosen ones, 13 rebels from Rebel Camp who were part of the rebellion, or had parents who were so significant in the rebellion, that their kids warranted a spot in this Games.

Effie Trinket has completely lost both her spunk and her pinkish hair this year. Even her speech pales in comparison to the accent she had once had, sixteen years ago. It's not surprising, really. After all, Snow had forced her to do this.

"Welcome…. Welcome…. To… the 91st Hunger Games…" She pauses and takes a deep breath, shakily unfurling a scroll. "A long time ago, there were perilous times when ingrates from the various districts rebelled against the Capitol. As a result, the Hunger Games was created, serving as a reminder to all the districts of the dire consequences of their actions. This was the Dark Ages."

"Not so long ago," she continued, "an even Darker Age was born. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, restarted this ridiculous revolution, and many innocent lives were sacrificed for her in the process. Fortunately, the Capitol has managed to save us all, in the end. As a warning to everyone who thinks that they can rise up against the Capitol, today, the 91st Hunger Games, will see the death of certain significant rebels, including the ill-conceived daughter of Katniss Everdeen, Hope Mellark! Let this rebellion die, once and for all. Never will anyone of you resist the goodwill of the Capitol ever again. Let your _Hope_ die,"

"And may the odds," Effie cries out, "be _never_ in your favor."

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><p>The hall is silent. We witness her quivering hands, as she walks slowly, towards the reaping ball, the cameras from the Capitol TV trailing her every move. "Ladies first," she whispers. And we hear it all.<p>

"First, we have Alma Coin, leader of District 13." Despite her gauntness, Coin gets up, deadly composed and straight, and walks towards the stage. Guards aim rifles at her back, ready to shoot, if she made any sudden movement.

"Plutarch Heavensbee, Gamemaker and betrayer of the Capitol."

"Paylor, Commander of District 8 Rebel Troops."

"Finnick Odair," there's a slight gasp in Effie's voice as she reads this out. Somewhere in the Capitol, I am fairly sure groups of women – all ages - are spontaneously combusting into puddles of tears.

"Johanna Mason."

"Beetee."

"Primrose Everdeen!" _My aunt is not dead?_ I take note of the wavy-haired blonde woman that takes the stage. Whispers have rippled throughout the assembled. _Is this a joke? _Gunshots blast into the air silence the rebels.

Effie pauses. "Haymitch. Haymitch Abernathy." I nearly bite my tongue out. He's too old and frail to be of any entertainment in the Games. Besides, for the past 16 years in camp, he has been training me. In secret. Even though he says I'm not any good. I want to volunteer, can I do that? They'd laugh, certainly, they'd tell me not to be so eager, that my 'chance' will come soon. So I grit my teeth.

From my peripheral vision, I can see the stupid cameras stalking me. I turn. Flash_! Flash! Flash!_ They snap endless shots of my bewildered profile. I almost get up to slap them.

"Cressida, creator of the poisonous, misleading propos."

"Boggs, vice leader of 13th."

"Hope Mellark, daughter of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark of the rebellion."

The room quiets, and people respectfully move out of the way, parting like the Red Sea to let me pass. _Why am I still surprised? I mean, I've known for sixteen years. _I get up, more hesitant than the rest, and feel for my mockingjay pin. Following this motion, the Peacekeepers snatch me up, like I'm a threat, and drag me onstage. I stand next to Cressida. She avoids my glance. Below me, the people raise their fingers to their lips and push it outwards towards me. I've seen District 12 doing it to Katniss before. I'm not sure what it means, but right then, I feel like crying. Everyone pretends not to notice the movement. Capitol TV makes sure to have a close-up of it, and my reaction.

"Jed, son of Cinna, the Stylist of the most offensive costume in Capitol history, the Mockingjay suit." Yes, at least I had predicted this fate of Jed's. That's why I have never gotten close to him, except during Constructive Art Lessons, when we have to partner for Drawing.

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><p>Effie picks up the last slip from the girl's side. I don't know who else is there left that the Capitol detests. Are there really so many people to kill?<p>

And then her eyes blur over. Her lips tremble. Her eyes well with sickness, insanity, and tears drenched in disbelief.

She reads out the last name.

"Effie Trinket."

_Thud._ She collapses onto the ground, passed out cold.


	3. Chapter 3

(A/n: **Thanks for the reviews!** All the camels under the sea definitely love you, promise! :-) Here's a short train scene. Enjoy! **'x' to indicate you've read**.)

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><p>I have to stand in between Boggs and Jed as we link arms to sing the Anthem, in accordance to the new Snow Laws. Haymitch said it's supposed to be a Capitol parody of the Victors-Linking-Arms Movement during the last Quarter Quell.<p>

Boggs's crushing grip is sickeningly clammy. I have to remember not to rub my eyes with my left hand later. In contrast, Jed's hold is firm and cool. During the Anthem, he uses his finger to trace stars on the inside of my palm. My body tingles, most of the stage fright beginning to seep away already. From my peripheral vision, his eyes are glittering as he faces the cameras, almost like he's proud of being reaped.

_Flash! Flash! Flash!_

I swallow two things – a snarl, and a look of disdain that was about to be hurled his way.

_Flash! Flash! Flash!_

The camera lenses shift their attention and record a burly Peacekeeper carrying an unconscious Effie Trinket to the Infirmary.

Her candy-pink blob of wig falls to the ground, and the Capitol people fight to film that too. Beside me, Jed chuckles.

My frown deepens.

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><p>It's the same old. We board the Death Train V3.5, which they had just upgraded with a barrage of new tech equipment from the Capitol.<p>

Tributes no longer can have conversations without being overheard. All doors, I discover, are sealed shut with a fingerprint-sensitive code. No chance of tributes hurtling themselves overboard.

One compartment per _participant_. Peacekeeper Mimosa guides me to Room #11.

"Search me here, then," a bald woman sneers, "I'm not afraid."

Friz, the Peacekeeper from earlier this morning, looks uncomfortable, but the woman I recognize as Johanna Mason has already whipped off her top.

"Nice, eh?" She taunts Friz, rubbing her breasts into his uniform. He blanches.

I break free from Mimosa. "Stop it," I hiss at her, knowing Friz will get whipped – or shot at by Crusade – if he was caught not being able to handle a mere tribute.

She eyes me up and down, then throws her head back to laugh hysterically.

"Big girl now, little Katniss?" Johanna struts towards me, still nude from the waist up. "Where's your mommy?" She whispers, then breaks into a shout, "Where's your mommy that landed us into this SHIT HOLE?

"That's enough," Mimosa states. Just as she drags me away, Johanna orders Friz to '_search her_ _now, right here, coward_'.

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><p>In Room #11, I am stripped and searched, before being allowed to rest. When he leaves and locks the door, I plunge into the soft bedding and inhale.<p>

_Velvet._ Sweet.

It's not like we don't have velvet or any other luxury back at Camp, but it is rare. I snatch up the translucent remote controller and do my best to go wild. After scanning the cyber-menu, I order goose liver strips, beef stew, an assortment of fried potato sticks drenched in different condiments, and a pot of hot chocolate with little bobbing marshmallows.

My head explodes with all the rich, new tastes lingering on my tongue. It feels like the time wooden shards had embedded themselves into my kneecaps during training and the Peacekeepers injected me with something that sounded like _Anastascea_.

The train cabins shake and darken as we pass through an underground tunnel. As I lie on the bed, encircled by the result of my unsanitary habits – crumbs, half-chewed liver – I look at the mural on the wall clearly for the first time.

The velvet is inviting sleep. The room blurs.

5…4…3…. I close my eyes.

The girl in the mural looks like… Katniss?

3…2…1… and I jerk awake as a universal scream loud enough to wake the dead pierces the air outside.

All the lights in the cabin go out.


End file.
